After skimming a handful of diatribes by that unusually noxious tribe of "Aginners" so oft in evidence on FT, I feel obligated to eat about 30 straight meals at Chik Fil-A, no matter how salty.

I could appreciate my old Dad's refusal to purchase or consume any known Japanese products up until his death in the 90s. After all, he had spent more than two bad years in close contact with them and the results of their passing through in China, 1942-1945, but to refuse to patronize Chil Fil-A because of the Faith or Evangelical fervor of it's founder/principal owner is about as silly as swearing off chopped chicken liver and Nova lox for life. I'm going to pour out my last carton of hummus and never buy another, hoping to avoid hummus-subsidized jihadists.

My goodness, I'm sure not going crosstown for greens and hot water cornbread. Those folks are likely to be Democrats, certainly damned to perdition and higher taxes!

I don't find much to compliment about the food, mostly beyond bland, but in organization, customer service, and the visible manifestations of the Land of Fast Foods, the chain is a paragon of virtue.

(A) Chicken w/o salt is like unto eggs w/o pepper, borderline inedible.

(B) Pepsi Cola is a soapy liquid of indeterminate ingredients and no characteristic flavor beyond sweet. Coca Cola, at about 33F, undiluted by ice, even made with corn syrup, preserves and maintains that sharp "Bite" with which it swept the South, the nation's cultural Heartland and Belt of Sophistication. Dr. Pepper, on the other hand, may be drunk only at 10, 2 and 4 (and not hot, as once advertised), between April and November in America's Sweat Zone in communities of less than 10,000, preferably with a few peanuts stuffed down the bottle's neck. R-R'C may only be consumed while seated on a wooden bench in front of an old filling station while (a) surrounded by ancient whiskered idlers or (b) pitching pennies. It goes down good with a Moon Pie.